The Walk Home

Dear Literotica readers. Here's a new experiment. I'd like to thank proof reader Kurokami here, who has incredible patience with me and my almost-finished stories. If you are familiar with some of my other work, a warning might be in place: this one contains no bdsm-undertones, this is just straight up noncon/reluctance. Dark and dramatic. If that is your thing, enjoy. If not, please skip this one and find something that does do it for you. -- Allyourbase

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As you stroll down the dark alleyways you remember how much you promised yourself never to walk home alone like this. That last beer had been one too much, though, and that familiar feeling of being immortal, the one you had as a teenager, had pushed away all worry. But you're worried now, alright.

You try to distance yourself from the fear you feel inside, focusing on the random sounds of the city, but they feel like distant threats, trouble waiting to happen. You're drunk enough to be glad you don't have to navigate traffic riding your bike. Biking is fast, dangerous, it can get you into painful situations in the blink of an eye. You're drunk enough to wish you were on your bike, in stead of walking. Walking is slow, dangerous, it can get you into trouble way too easily and not out of it fast enough.

Where is that bike anyway?

You feel the skin of your hands against the inside of your pockets. Soft, warm, hidden. It's a sudden moment of comfort. Caressing your leg through the fabric, the ache returns in your consciousness - the paradoxical cold and hot sensation of a cunt in wet, sticky shorts. You hate your cunt. It's always wet.

None of your lovers got it, mostly because you didn't tell them, but if there's anything that makes you hate your cunt, it's how sweet they've treated it. You think of her fingers, caressing your labia, and of her mouth kissing your clit, softly licking it, like she loves the ugly thing. Maybe she does.

And you thought men would be better, but you can still feel his hands sliding over your body appreciatively, carefully fondling your tits, caressing your ass, way too gently for the clumsy, large hands he has, turning your outside into a curvy princess like a gold cage. You can still see his face between your legs, eating you out with this disturbing patience like he's giving you a gift.

You just wanted to kick him in the face and scream.

No sex at all is preferable to the kind of sickly sweet luvvin that makes you feel like this. Dirty and ugly and hungry, because someone insists you're not. Locked up inside like this, with your cunt screaming for it.

Your hands have balled up into fists inside your pockets.

Goddammit. You need to be hurt.

You cross a large street, there's just a few cars driving through at this hour. For some reason you have to think of some manifesto you read by Italian futurists of a century ago. They had a thing with car crashes and sex that you never understood when you read it. Not that you remember enough about it now. They were fascists anyway.

What would it feel like to be hit by a car?

Really, it must be extremely painful, not something you want, you know this. But your drunk mind has a will of its own. Drastic measures. Anything to satisfy the hunger inside. An elaborate surreal fantasy plays behind your eyes, about a hard blow, splitting open on the concrete, letting out whatever it is that is pent up inside, roaring, like the Hulk. You wonder if it would be better than sex. If it would be like cumming unlike ever before. How you'd feel so, so O.K. when the nurses take you away to get fixed up again. So alive under all the pain, so clean. So satisfied.

Maybe that's why you liked skateboarding so much. The bruises. You loved those bruises.

That time you broke your wrist was crap. Even though, with the increasing recklessness your friends started to worry about, you were asking for it by then.

Heh, you skateboarded to fail at it, and you secretly want to be hit by a car, because there's a masochist inside of you that wants to break out like a comic book super hero. Great. This night is going well again.

Oh well.

Nevermind.

Your fantasies are fucked up.

In your fantasies you always end up getting hurt or used. Or both. It's bad enough that that's what you use to get off on. Alone. It's even worse you end up using them while your lovers fuck you. You're a bad person. But no need to think about it now, with this amount of beer in your body.

At least you're not afraid anymore.

You take a deep breath. You smell the greasy smell of deep fried food lingering in the street. Some people spill out of an Irish pub. Stifled music behind the door. The warm air from inside smells like Guinness and cider. It follows them, hangs between them as you brush past. They walk beside you. Their bodies are close.

God, you're horny.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel a painful memory stir, like a bruise you forgot you had until you accidentally touched it.

An evening like this. An alley like this. A long time ago, when you were very young. That boy and his friend who wouldn't leave you alone.

That night in bed, afterwards. Fingering the sore spots on your body. Not feeling the right feelings about it. Not the right feelings at all.

This body didn't feel like it was yours anymore. It had gotten a mind of its own.

Yes, you were young, but you should never have let it get out of hand like that. Now you're fucked up, if you weren't already. It's something you've wondered about so often: how much of it was already there, just waiting to be triggered, waiting to take you over?

You turn a corner, leaving the group on its way. This street is too big, you feel too exposed, the world is too open here. The sky looks down on you and it makes you uncomfortable. The darkness of alleyways is what you need right now.

You turn another corner. Your darkening mind gives ever more power to your yearning body until your center is nothing but an aching cunt. It drags you through smaller and smaller streets.

You turn another corner, and another one, choose street after street, winding through the city maze.

There be monsters here. You know this. You're looking for them.

And then you see them, four of them, like they've waited there for you to arrive. Waited, since that first time in that alley years ago. You walk through your memory, through the dark street, towards them. They close in on you, casually. The past has caught up with you. You shiver. You have a knot in your stomach. A fire in your crotch.

"Hey gorgeous, where are you heading?"

You expected this. He is the alpha boy. He always starts.

[Here.]

"Nowhere."

He is way too close. Good.

"Nowhere? Then why don't you come with us, hm?"

All four of 'em are close now.

"Why would I come with you?"

[Why don't you do me here.]

"Because we could have... some fun...," he says.

"Fun, hm? What kind of fun."

[Bring it on. Motherfucker.]

Very casually, his hand touches your lower back, like you're very, very close friends. You are not.

"You know, just harmless fun. Come on..." He looks at the others, now is the moment to support him. "Don't you trust us? We're nice guys."

"Yeah," one of the other boys says. The other two chime in as well. "We're nice guys!" "Do we look dangerous to you?"

[Yes, yes and I hope you are. I hope the only nice part of you is in your pants...]

"Dude, are you going to keep touching me like that?"

[Keep touching me like that.]

Your tone is defensive, you've raised the stakes a bit.

"Why, do you like that?" he says. His hand now deliberately caresses your back, almost your buttocks, but not yet.

[Yes.]

Silence...

"Oh have you lost your tongue?"

[Come on, come on...]

His hand now slides down to your butt, cups a cheek. His face is close to you. You avoid his eyes. He addresses the others, in a low, growling voice.

"I think she likes it..."

[Good. You're catching on.]

The other boys make some jeering cries. It bounces off the walls of the alley. He pushes his body against you.

"Hey," you say. "Fuck off!"

But you don't push him away. Not really, just a little. You're strong enough. But you don't.

[You can win, I'm not that strong. Feel that?]

"You don't want me to fuck off at all," he says, as he pulls you close.

[Exactly.]

You struggle a little. Another boy pushes his chest against your back. Softly places his hands around your shoulders, not restricting you, but ready to. It's extremely arousing.

His hands slide from your shoulders down to your sides, almost touching your tits. You push them down a bit. Like you don't want it. You want it the hard way. He holds your waist, you have to stop yourself leaning back into him, comfortably, giving in. The fear in your stomach feels like the nauseating kind of excitement for big events you could have as a kid. Wake up, it's your birthday.

"Flash us some tits!" The other boys call out. "Tits, tits!"

"No."

[Make me.]

"Come on..." The boy behind you has his lips against your ear. In the background the other boys are chiming in. "Come on!"

His hands pull on your shirt, you're pushing them down again. Your stomach flutters. "There's nobody else around. Just show us a little bit of skin..."

"I said no..."

[Make. me.]

"Just for this one time." The alpha boy grinds himself against you, one hand on your cheek, the other finding the hem of your shirt. He licks his lips. You're still not afraid enough. "Show us a little something. We promise we'll leave you alone! A little skin, pretty girl, and we'll let you be. Then you can go, if you want to."

[No.]

"Make me!"

Your shout bounces off the silent, dark houses.

The alpha boy tenses up, stares you in the eyes. His jaw goes rigid, something changes in his looks. Behind him, the boys are calling him out on it. "Make her! She said make her!"

He cannot stand being challenged, he wants to make you regret it. You wonder if you will regret it. You wonder if you want to regret it.

"Hold her," he says to the boy behind you. The boy grabs your arms, twists them behind your back, wrists in his hand. His other hand fumbles with your shirt, until the alpha boy repeats: "Hold her!" He closes his arm around your throat, tightly. Suddenly, fear rises up, hits you in the stomach, hard. Your breath! Careful, careful. What on earth were you doing here again? You grunt and struggle a little. But now you can't escape...

And then the alpha boy pulls up your shirt, your bra. He exposes your tits. They all laugh, hoot. They feel grotesque, dangling there in the cool air. His cold hands massage your warm tits. Suddenly, there's a lot of jeering, a lot hands on your tits, feeling, playing with the nipples. The boy behind you grinds his crotch against you. He is hard. He whispers in your ear.

"Horny little slut. You like this, don't you?"

Oh god, and there it is, that powerful, dark thing inside you that gets you off so much, but makes you feel so bad. Arousal surges through you. Your shorts are wet again.

[Yes, yes I like this.]

The alpha boy makes some room. The smallest boy, with fake blond hair, bounces in front of you, he's the clown of the group. He plays with your nipples, twists them, pulls them, laughing. You swear, try to twist away. He mocks you in your face. Then he lowers his head, takes a nipple in his mouth, sucks it, hard. You twist in the tight grip, you have a hard time not moaning. Don't moan. You need it as mean as possible. For a moment, his gaze is distant, distracted, like there's nothing else but the feeling of your nipple against his tongue. He wants the other tit as well, and he sucks it like he's hungry. You want to fuck.

"That's good, hm!" He brings his face very close to yours. "You want some tongue?" He flicks his tongue against your mouth. It disgusts you, turns you on. Suddenly, you're angry. What the fuck is taking them so long. You want to be pushed over the edge, no time to think. You do not want to time to think.

You spit him in the face.

Wow, that was a bad idea. Or a very good one. He wipes his face, becomes furious.

"No!" you scream. You can't help but cry. You can see he doesn't care. Somehow, that is a relief. You try to kick him away. You have no idea whether you mean it. You're a ball of doubt and fear and guilt and arousal, so much arousal, with no escape.

"Hey!" The alpha boy pulls him off you. He pushes himself against you, tightly, sandwiches you with the horny boy behind you. Now, there is no room for kicking legs.

His hands go to your jeans.

"Remember who's first..." he mutters, and pulls down your jeans and shorts, until halfway your legs. Your cunt is exposed. Its wetness cools fast in the night air. Your entire torso is naked. You feel exposed, a mix of horrified and exhilarated.

"No..." you whine. "Asshole, fuck off!"

His hand reaches between your legs.

[Finally.]

"get your hands off me, let me go!"

[You like that struggle, boy, don't you. Come on...]

His big fingers slide between your sticky pussy lips. He chuckles...

"Oh you are wet... you are soaking wet!"

[Use it.]

The boys in the background laugh. The boy behind you watches you closely, he wants to see what is going on in your head. The blond boy sticks his face in again, close to you.

"Whore!"

He spits in your face. You scream. It's a cry of arousal, frustration, fear... You feel dirty, furious, hungry for someone to slam this thing home. Cross that boundary. Make it hurt. The alpha boy slides a finger inside of you, roughly. You moan. Oh fuck.

He stares you in the eyes. Slightly surprised at the thing he sees there.

"Oh you really like this..."

As he opens his zipper, he mutters:

"Now I won't feel so bad fucking you. If you're real good, I might get you off."

Oh boy, no, yes.

"Shut her up," he says to the boy behind you.

A hand slips over your mouth. And as he clumsily forces his cock between your sticky legs. He enters you, you are unprepared, but in a way as prepared as anyone has ever been for this. It hurts just a little, it feels good, full, nasty. Finally. You feel yourself slipping away, zooming out, enjoying the ride from a distance. The huddled group in the empty, dark alley has gone strangely silent, except for the shuffling of feet, and his strained breathing. His urgent grunts echo softly against the houses where everybody seems asleep. You see him fuck you, hard. Your tits jiggle in the scarce light. The men around him watch, in trance. He is rough. It must hurt. You are a cold, restrained body with a dick entering its cunt. Again and again. Until he starts moaning, leaning against you, writhing his body against yours, squirming as his cock slides in and out of you. He is close. When he jabs inside of you, hard, for one last time, he grabs your face.

"Whore..."

He slips out, a sticky mess flows out of you, into your trousers, on your shorts, down a leg.

"Next," he says, tucking away his shirt.

Wordlessly, another boy takes his place. The boy behind you yanks your head back and says:

"Looks like you won't be going home yet, girl..."

The blonde boy takes out his cock and fumbles between your legs. He pushes in. He is bigger than the other boy. It hurts. You wince.

You don't answer, stare into nowhere. Now and then your cunt hurts, trying to adjust to his size. Your face twitches.

"I think... you're enjoying yourself... You like this. Don't you?"

[Fuck me. Come on. Harder.]

His hot breath makes your ear damp.

"Little slut you are... dirty, filthy little whore."

He fucks you differently than the other boy, sensual in a way, grinding himself against you, savoring the feeling of his big cock hurting your cunt. His hands play with your chest, pull on your nipples. You watch and watch and watch. You see your body twist against him. You know yourself too well. You know you like it when it hurts.

When he gets close, he gets careless. He picks up speed, grabs your hips, jams himself inside you, fast and mechanically, like you're not there. You start to curse, but the boy behind you twists your arms a bit more, puts a hand on your mouth again.

"Take it, whore," he whispers in your ear, as the guy fucking you plows himself into your cunt, unloading himself with a satisfied cry that bounces off the walls. He stays inside you, his cock twitching, sperm leaking out already, down your butt crack. He takes some time to catch his breath. When he pulls out, a load of cum gushes out. A puddle is forming in your shorts and inside the folds of the crotch of your jeans.

You are sore. He was big.

He lets out a satisfied moan, pats your cheek and says:

"Thanks, I needed that! Next."

You can't take another cock, and there's two more. You want to talk, even though the boy behind you is fond of shutting you up.

"Sore!" You say, muffled. "No! Not my cunt." You have no idea what they'll do with that information.

The boys chuckle... they make some comments about his size.

"I guess I spoiled it for the next guy..." the blonde dude with the large cock says, grinning.

The next boy pulls your head down, forward, making you bend at the waist. The boy behind you lets you go. Your tits jiggle, hanging down loosely, vulnerably. Before you know it, there's a cock in your mouth. He's not as big, but thick. You expect it to taste bad, but it doesn't, not too bad anyway. Involuntarily, your tongue plays with his dickhead. Your hands grab his jeans, for stability. He moans, surprised.

He starts stroking your hair, grabbing it, cupping your chin, grinding his crotch against your face, pushing in his dick, a bit more forceful every time. He tries to reach your tits, but can't.

Behind you, the last boy starts to open up his pants as well. Languidly, he caresses your back, your sides, bends over to slide his hands down to your tits. You feel his skin against your bare butt cheeks.